The thing in our conversation that makes me utterly
disconsolate was that, when I said I was afraid that you would
have a hard nut to crack during the current year, you answered
that “you had observed I should like to see this happen,
that you see quite clearly that you cannot count on me, and
that you know all right that I shall reward you with stinking
ingratitude.” This is not true, and I am disconsolate
that you see it that way.

Let me give you this hint: don't consider this painting
business of mine a burden, and don't treat it in a stepmotherly
way, because it may prove to be a little lifeboat when
the big ship is wrecked. My hint is now, and will be in the
future: Let's try and keep the little boat trim and seaworthy,
whether the tempest comes, or my uneasiness proves unfounded.
At present I am a tiny vessel which you have in tow, and which
at times will seem to you so much ballast. But this - I mean
the ballast - you may leave behind by cutting the towrope, if
you like…But I, who am the skipper of my tiny vessel,
ask in this case that - far from having the towrope cut - that
my little boat be kept trim and well provisioned, in order that
I may do better service in times of need.

If you doubt the good faith of this request, then the only
thing for me to do is to repeat it even more urgently. For I
perceive that in the matter of my colour bill my little vessel
is leaking here and there. However, I am trying to stop these
leaks to the best of my ability, and I have not lost my
self-command yet. Neither am I desperate. But considering that
both of us may be overtaken by the same tempest, I am speaking
concretely and, as far as I can see, in our mutual
interest.

I can summarize your answer to my question thus: it may be
that there will be a tempest, but even in that case don't count
on repairs or provisions, and bear in mind that under the
pressure of certain circumstances I may feel obliged to cut the
towrope.

This answer I must accept, but only as long as it is
not aggravated by doubting my good faith.

However, with this letter I cry out to you once more that my
request for reinforcement may prove to be in both our
interests, and I do not make it out of selfishness, as you
suppose. That in case of a tempest, I shall be willing, and
perhaps able, to be of some use and service to you, but
that this will be impossible if my own vessel is swamped (a
thing I try to prevent) before the critical moment. This,
however, is a thing I seek to stave off myself, but I should
not cry out to you without necessity. I am not afraid in the
midst of danger either, but I try to be ready at the moment of
distress.

It may be that you don't think it reasonable of me to insist
on my - and I should much prefer to say our -
little painting business becoming the centre of a larger
business which we might undertake together later on; but I for
my part persist in claiming that something will and
shall come of it, if only we remain sufficiently
united.

If I haven't the same ideas as you, don't suspect me of bad
faith or of evil intentions, either toward you or toward those
at home. With regard to those at home I do nothing that I have
no right to do, seeing that I refrain strictly and permanently
from interfering in their affairs, or from obtruding either my
advice or any questions, and remain absolutely on my own ground
- and that I even keep back my opinions of their affairs, as in
point of fact we do not understand each other's interests.

And to you I speak, and I shall go on speaking, as one
person dealing in pictures to another person dealing in
pictures, and I will not trespass on the other
territory.

And the question I started discussing with you is that
however great the depression may be, and however much trouble
we shall have to take, we must try energetically to push
forward the little painting business that belongs to you as
much as to me.

I say it may be a lifeboat which may be of use to you in the
tempest, although I don't wish for this tempest any more than
you can wish for it.